


The Art of Godfathering

by deejay



Category: Alien Nation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-24
Updated: 2009-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-05 03:25:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/37298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deejay/pseuds/deejay





	The Art of Godfathering

"How long until Susan gets back?" Matthew Sikes asked aloud for the fifth time since breakfast.

His partner, George Francisco, lowered his newspaper and slowly closed eyes, as if in pain.

Matt noticed his expression and smirked. "I'm just kiddin' ya," he drawled. Kicking back in the La-Z-Boy, he grabbed the TV remote and began rapidly clicking past channels.

From the adjacent couch, George quickly glanced over at him, then at the TV screen, before returning to his perusal of the Sunday morning newspaper. "You are going to drain the battery again if you keep abusing that remote."

Matt snorted a laugh. "Quit your belly-achin', I found it," he teased, settling on a sports channel. "Hey, check it out ... the Tigers beat the Braves last night, seven to one. Sweet!"

George looked at Matt from around the newspaper, confused. "But ... my belly does not ache, Matthew...."

"It's just an expression," Matt sighed, rolling his eyes. "Forget about it."

"...my head, on the other hand, is completely another matter," George continued. "Not that my head is currently on either of my hands ... at the moment...."

"Never mind, George." Matt shook his head and refocused his attempt to follow the baseball scores.

From her high-backed high chair, situated next to the couch, Vessna awoke from her morning nap. She yawned, stretched, and started to sway and chirp quietly.

"It's your turn," Matt and George announced simultaneously.

George lowered his newspaper again, this time in disgust. "Matthew, you know perfectly well that I was the last one to feed - "

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." Matt switched off the TV, tossed the remote on the table, rolled off the recliner, and trotted to the kitchen.

" - and you also know how much I hate it when you leave my recliner reclining like that!"

Blatantly ignoring George's vociferous complaint, Matt opened the refrigerator and peered inside at its contents. "Where did you last leave the ... whatever you call that stuff Buck said she really likes ... the 'sheets' cereal ... whatchamacallit...?!" he bellowed.

"It's called 'sheezaar' ... and it's on the top shelf, behind the six-pack of beer you put in there this morning!" George bellowed back.

Vessna stopped her gentle swaying and looked around as if wondering why everyone was suddenly yelling. Her chirping intensified.

Moving aside the six-pack, Matt grabbed the small, clear, plastic container, closed the refrigerator door with his knee, then snatched up a clean baby spoon on a nearby counter. He glanced around the kitchen to make certain he had everything he needed. "She's got her bib in there already, right?! And a towel for me?!"

Vessna's strident chirping mutated into a head-thrown-back, sustained, high-pitched wail.

"Yes! To both! Bring her the food, please!" George sat with the newspaper crumpled on his lap and stared over at his youngest daughter, still mystified that such a small creature could create such a tremendously irritating noise.

Matt sprinted to the high chair with the supplies. "Hey, now, punkin'-head," he soothed. "That's okay ... I got your sheezy stuff right here...."

"Sheezaar," George muttered, rubbing his throbbing forehead.

"Shee -- whatever," Matt shrugged. He held the container at almost arms' length as he popped off its lid and stirred its foul smelling contents with the baby spoon. To make matters worse, a quick peek had verified that it had the same look and consistency as half-hardened, clotted, milky mucous.

Vessna's eyes had lit up the moment she had looked to see her godfather run to her, and she had reverted to chirping in delight and smiling even before he had secured the bib around her neck, thrown the towel over his shoulder, and made motions to feed her.

Literally holding his breath to avoid the fumes, Matt held a spoonful of the spackle-like mass to Vessna's now cooing lips. With a slurp, the spoon was instantly bone dry. Gulping breaths with a quick turn of his head, Matt repeated the procedure until he couldn't scrape anything more from the container. "That's all of it, sweetheart," he exhaled gratefully.

"You feed her quicker than I do," George noted, impressed. He tossed the newspaper aside and retrieved the spoon and lid and empty container from his partner's outstretched and waving hand, then headed off with them for the dishwasher in the kitchen.

"Comes from years of shoveling shee -- zaar on the job!" Matt chuckled at his own lame joke and gathered up the eager infant in his arms. Recalling one particularly nasty incident, he refrained from swinging her around quite as fast when he stood upright.

"And make sure you don't swing her around this time, Matthew!" George yelled from the kitchen as he fetched the under-the-counter trash bag for emptying. "You remember what happened that one time when - "

"I got it, George, no sweat!" Matt sat down slowly on the couch, carefully seating Vessna on his lap and readjusting the towel over his left shoulder. "Ya know something, honey? I sometimes think your daddy thinks I have no brains at all," he whispered to his rapt goddaughter as he prepared to burp her.

"I heard that!"

"Whatever."

George stuck his head into the living room from the kitchen alcove, while tying the trash bag closed. "I do not believe you have no brains whatsoever," he primly stated. "On the contrary, I believe that ... for a human, that is ... your intellectual facilities can be considered by some to be ... well ... slightly more elevated than the standard norm."

Slit-eyed, Matt glanced over at him with feigned suspicion. "Don't work so hard at drudging up a compliment, George. You'll break something." He scooted Vessna a bit higher so that she was aimed at his toweled shoulder and started gently patting her back.

George swallowed his grin and left for the garage with the trash bag. Less than a minute later, while resettling the lid atop the garbage can, he was startled to hear a sudden shriek of pain emanate from his partner, followed immediately by a discernible scream of the word "Shit!"

Barreling back into the living room, he discovered Matt clutching his left earlobe and rocking back and forth in apparent agony until his yelps of "Oww!" diminished to whimpers. Vessna sat on the couch next to Matt where she obviously had been quickly -- yet carefully -- dumped, softly cooing and staring up at her godfather with some bewilderment.

"She bit me!" Matt reported, having finally noticed George's stunned presence. "She had burped for me, and was gumming the towel -- then she chomped down on my ear! It stings like a son of a - "

"Ohhh, I see," George interrupted, hoping to shield his daughter from even more inadvertent profanity. He leaned over and gently tickled Vessna under her chin, causing her to laugh aloud in glee and giving him a good look at her lower gum. "A tooth bud! She's teething, Matthew! This is wonderful!"

Matt stared at Vessna with some consternation. "So, why did she get the idea she needed to teethe on my ear?"

"Perhaps it reminded her of her teething ring?" George shrugged. "At any rate, this is premature; we didn't expect her buds to start erupting for at least another month. By then we would have had ample time to warn you...."

Matt glowered up at George and rubbed his still-stinging earlobe with the towel. "Warn me about what?" he growled.

"A Tenctonese infant's tooth buds are extremely acidic," George explained with some embarrassment. "It's an ancient defense mechanism."

"How marvelous," Matt observed wryly. "She feels threatened by my ear."

"Well ... she doesn't ... see many ears ... after all," George stammered. "Yours are the only ones ... usually.... Anyway, you should put some ice on it to help reduce the swelling."

With an exaggerated sigh, Matt trudged off to the kitchen in search of an ice cube.

"And you, young lady," George addressed his daughter with mock solemnity. "With the appearance of your first tooth bud, this means you should be talking any day now, as the development is generally concurrent. Your very first word...."

"...will probably be 'sheezaar'!" Matt sniped from the kitchen alcove.

"...your very first sentence...." George crooned at Vessna, ignoring him.

"'It's an ear -- attack!'"

Holding the towel-wrapped ice cube against his earlobe, Matt swaggered over and leaned down so that Vessna could see him cross his eyes, which made her giggle. Then she opened her mouth and made a few hesitant gurgling noises.

"Here it comes, Matthew! She's going to say her first word, this very instant!" George literally wrung his hands in excitement.

"Really?" Matt asked, amazed. "She's gonna start talking now?!"

"Yes!" George gasped. "Just watch!"

Vessna's tiny face scrunched up with the look of profound concentration. George and Matt both stood silent as she studied each of them in turn. After a few moments of contemplation, she opened her mouth again, took a deep breath, and cooed in a high-pitched tone, "Shee ... shee ... shee...."

"Sheezaar! I was right, George, she's gonna say 'sheezaar'!" Matthew crowed.

"Oh, how I wish Susan were here ... and Buck and Emily!" George happily sighed. "They'll be so disappointed to have missed this!"

Vesna looked directly at Matt and grinned widely, her tiny tooth bud glinting in the light. "Shee ... shee ... shee-it! Shit!" she yelled proudly.

"Then again," George stated slowly, "perhaps it's best that they missed it...."

The End

(Written for Yuletide, 2005)


End file.
